V6 Announcements

Credit to staff for writing the announcements: MurderWeasel, Namira.

The First Announcement
Thursday, May 7, 2015: Undisclosed Location, Early Morning

Jaxon Jeremiah, STAR Defense Squad, was trying hard to appear impassive. He was good at it, but maybe not as good as he'd been seven years ago. The better part of a decade could bring a lot of change with it, and almost twice as long had passed since STAR's last meaningful action as it had been between that moment and their inception. Perhaps this was why Jaxon almost had a sense of nostalgia about all of this.

"Perk up, man. It's finally happening. You're allowed to be pumped."

The voice of the man sitting next to Jaxon did little to dispel his reverie. Nate was right here, on the same boat now instead of spearheading the other side of the operation. They'd had their ups and downs over the years, Jaxon and Nate, and even though they'd been joking around again like there was nothing between them for a while now, Jaxon felt a little more comfortable having his squad-mate close at hand, and so Rachel was in charge of the second boat. Nate hadn't complained—hadn't even seemed that interested in team distributions. Nate had said that as he saw it, they'd get there before there were any real players and the AT as a whole would go down in flames, so he wasn't going to bother arguing for leaving anyone behind this time. Jaxon felt like there was something else there. There usually was with Nate.

Dane would know what to do. It was another nostalgic thought—a glum thought, a Zach thought, even. Dane had been dead for a long, long time, and when he died he'd been seventeen. He'd had some charisma, some natural ability to pull everything together and get disparate personalities to cooperate cleanly, to get Nate to shut up and play nice. Of course, that had been in one single high pressure situation. Who knew what would have come of Dane if he hadn't stayed to the very last, playing vanguard as the rest of the embryonic STAR got out? Maybe he'd be the troublemaker now.

"I am pumped," Jaxon said, replying a few seconds too late for it to sound at all natural. Nate laughed.

"You're pumped like a flat tire," he said. "Drink some coffee or something. I think we've got an adrenaline syringe around here somewhere if you don't mind getting pricked."

Jaxon waved his hand, trying to look cool and dismissive but feeling like he mostly just came off as edgy and exasperated. He was regretting having Nate on his boat, now, because the man made it much, much harder to keep his composure. He glanced at Nate, and that was a mistake too, because Nate cocked an eyebrow and wrinkled his forehead, and this made him look quite funny indeed, especially combined with the stupid goatee he'd recently cultivated.

"At least you're here," Nate said. "Waiting's gotta just be killing Zach. That's why you never want to become important. You're not allowed to have any fun anymore."

"I don't think anyone's going to have fun today," Jaxon said.

"Speak for yourself. Still wish the assault team would've taken me, though."

Jaxon shrugged, but privately he agreed with Nate. It didn't make much sense to keep one of the loosest cannons in the group aimed at his companions and the people they were supposed to be helping when pointing him in the general direction of the enemy was an option. Then again, Dax and Matt and CeeJay and the rest preferred to keep things on a very tight leash, and it really wouldn't do to have someone going off half-cocked in the most dangerous situations the crew faced.

"I don't really get why squads are even still a thing," Nate continued. "Like, Zach played eenie-meenie-miney-moe when he was trying to figure out how to get us off that island and now whatever we pulled is our job forever?"

"You know it wasn't like that," Jaxon said, and now it was Nate's turn to shrug.

Yes, getting Nate off the Defense Squad should have been a point of focus a long time ago. Just a week or two back, Jaxon had talked to Garnett a little about this, and about some of the other issues he'd been noticing recently, and Garnett had promised to look into them but had then gone and disappeared with Grossi on whatever their secret project of the moment was. That was another thing to add to the list: STAR always had so many balls in the air, and there were still these divisions, these suggestions of less-than-perfect trust. Most of the V3 kids had been shuttled away for their own little part in the proceedings, and while it had been framed in the most positive way, Jaxon knew it was more complicated. It didn't matter to him that they hadn't been there from the start—neither had Grossi, and neither had some of the others who'd come into the fold—but there was something about the V3 survivors that had never quite fit. Maybe it was that they'd suffered something far more evolved and complicated than what the rest of STAR had been subjected to. Maybe it was that many of them had struggled to cleanly integrate, fighting their own demons well after most of the rest of STAR had come to terms with its baggage. It didn't really matter. They would play their part, insofar as they wanted to, and then if they wanted out, they'd finally get the chance.

The plan was not simple, but it could be distilled to a handful of basic elements. The Defense Squad, bolstered by members of the Intel and Recon Squads, would land on the island, do its best to stop the violence, and corral the surviving students. The Assault Squad, along with members of the other squads and working off the advice of a handful of specialists STAR had been able to contract, would take out the terrorists' HQ using a large amount of explosive material. Upon receiving confirmation of the destruction of the AT and the rescue of the students, a third branch headed by a couple members of the Intel Squad would distribute this information to the public, at the same time revealing the origins of STAR as victims of an SOTF test run and the survival of a number of students presumed dead after V3. Throughout all of this, Zach and a skeleton crew would hold down base and Garnett and Grossi would do... whatever it was they were doing.

It sounded so easy. They'd gotten information from all the usual sources. STAR had known something was coming for months—based on movements of known AT resources, fluctuations in certain market prices, and intelligence from contacts they and their backers had cultivated in the appropriate fields—and for all the terrorists had learned to cover their tracks at least a little, it was hard to disguise a class of high schoolers vanishing off the face of the earth. STAR had been on standby since March, and so it was a huge relief to finally deploy, but also hard to believe that just seventy-two hours ago they'd all been anxiously waiting for something to happen.

And now, the island was in view. The darkness of the pre-dawn morning made it hard to pick out much, though Jaxon had seen old photographs. The buildings were blocky against the skyline, ugly and grey and predominantly concrete, and Jaxon wondered what this place had once been. A shipping outpost? A scientific station? The information had been incredibly scarce—likely the reason the AT had chosen it.

"Pretty ugly, eh?" Nate said. "I sure wouldn't want to die here."

"You can say that again," Jaxon said, before adding, "but don't."

Nate smirked, and Jaxon turned to look over the rest of the crew. The half dozen faces displayed a range of emotions, most seeming to fall somewhere between his nervousness and Nate's eagerness. One, though, looked positively crestfallen.

"You doing okay, Mateo?" Jaxon knew what the answer would be, but he asked anyways.

"Mostly, but we just lost another." Mateo Greenway nodded at the tablet he was carrying, and Jaxon made his way over to the man, moving slowly to keep his footing against the rocking of the boat. On the screen was a wireframe schematic populated by dots, each one corresponding to a signal that matched the frequencies expected from the collars. Mateo tapped the screen a few times, and the projection rewound. He point out a cluster of three of the dots, one of which winked out a second later.

"Look like someone giving up, or do we have some sickos on our hands?" Nate called.

"I think—" Mateo started, but Jaxon cut in, "Can't really say."

"Sure," Nate said. He scratched at his leg, right below his holstered pistol. "Sure."

"Under no circumstances are we going to make any trouble with the students," Jaxon said.

"Of course," Nate replied. "But if anyone opens up on you, and it's you or them, pick you. I don't want to lose anyone."

"They won't shoot at us," Jaxon said.

"Then there's no problem with what I said," Nate retorted.

Jaxon considered firing back, but decided it would just lend credence to Nate's paranoia. Instead, he directed his attention to the others.

"Look sharp, and quiet down now. We're on final approach. We should have the easy job. Remember, if everything goes to plan, we're staying here until the marines or someone turn up to relieve us, but if it doesn't we're doing another smash and run and may have to make it past some patrol boats on the way out. But our big goal is to keep the kids calm and organized. We're just here to help."

Saturday, April 25, 2015: Australia, 5 AM

Lucas Grossi was doing his recon rounds when his phone rang. It was the phone he used only for the most serious STAR business, a disposable phone with a number that changed every few weeks, so he experienced a flash of anxiety upon picking it up. If someone was calling at five in the morning, there were only a handful of things it could mean.

It could be one of the sponsors calling to make an offer or a complaint or try to uselessly steer the organization. STAR had its backers, most of them private, many of them loosely trustworthy at best. He expected that, were they all to become aware of each other's identities, half of them would immediately sever all ties with the organization. A good number were either altruistic or nursing hero complexes, and truly were in it to save the children. Some were out for revenge—especially those with connections to some of the international students and institutions targeted in the early days of the program. But of course, among the backers of STAR also numbered those delighted to watch the organization give the United States government a black eye, by accomplishing what officials had so conspicuously failed to do for years. He tried not to lose any sleep over it—after all, they were saving lives, and weapons and equipment didn't pay for themselves, not to mention the costs inherent in housing several dozen otherwise-unemployed people.

The caller could be a member of the organization, in a hurry to tell him something had gone wrong. That wasn't so common these days—the uncontrolled actions common among the V3 survivors had largely tapered off by now. There weren't many goings-on in STAR that could surprise Grossi—he was, if anything, the one keeping secrets. Garnett still gave him grief about it from time to time, told him he should never have orchestrated the logistics for Rizzolo's assassination unilaterally, told him he presumed too much when he was just as new to the organization as those V3 students, talking as if he had been there any longer. It was funny, in a way, how Grossi and Garnett had gotten along more smoothly when they were in the AT together. Maybe it was because Grossi had been in charge, whereas now the shoe had somehow ended up on the other foot. But of course, the students—no, Zach and the rest, he had to remind himself that they'd not been students for years—never heard a whisper of it. That was one place where he and Garnett agreed completely: anything one said in public, the other would back up to the end of the world, no matter how much they might privately disagree later. They had to be a unified front.

The caller could be one of any number of intelligence assets updating him on preparations or, more importantly, letting him know that the switch had been flipped and the game was starting. They all knew it was coming at any moment, but not, Grossi thought, on a Saturday. Still, it could always be something truly unusual, a church group kidnapped or some extracurricular sports trip hijacked. He expected a shift from the senior trip plan; senior trips were barely a thing anymore, thanks to the AT. Still, Grossi doubted the AT could gather a decent number of students on the weekend; all of the contingencies he could come up with would leave them with a miniscule roster, and that would in itself be a major victory for STAR.

All these thoughts that flashed through his head in an instant, however, were dispelled when he answered. The person on the other end of the phone should never have been who it was.

"Hello, Lucas," she said. "It's been a while."

Instinctively, Grossi let his free hand drop to the long knife he'd taken to wearing on the back of his belt. He should have hung up, called Garnett, and had the entire organization piled into jeeps heading into the outback ten minutes later. Maybe if he'd been thinking clearly, that's exactly what he'd've done. Instead, he said, "Oh. Hello. It has."

"How've you been?" Was that actual concern, or a mocking edge?

"Fine."

"Not getting too bored or lonely, hiding out for years on end? But then again, I suppose you get out more than the rest."

"Why—no, how are you calling?" Grossi had by this point pulled himself together enough to let go of his knife and start walking back towards the large isolated house that served as the STAR headquarters, but he was still a mile or so away along largely-empty roads. Still, he let his voice drop to almost a whisper.

"I know things. I always have. It's my job." The woman laughed. "As to why... I have some things you might be very interested to know. A bit of professional courtesy, for a former colleague."

"What makes you think I won't hang up on you and disappear?" Grossi said, realizing as he did that that was in fact exactly what he should do.

"It won't matter to me either way. It would have absolutely no bearing on anything."

"Okay." Grossi had slowed his pace, finally coming to a stop next to a scraggly bush, shaded even from the illumination of the stars. "What do you want to tell me?"

"I'd like to offer you a chance to get out. You were loyal to Danya for a long time. You were trusted for a reason. You threw that away."

"Of course I did," Grossi growled. "How could I sit still while we mur—"

"I know you had your reasons. You think this makes you a good person, even though you're now taking money from people with far more blood on their hands than you've ever had. You think you're doing the right thing for the kids you shepherd around, even as you hide them away and deny them any chance at a normal life."

"I'm going to hang up," Grossi said.

"I'm not looking to hurt anybody who's not looking to hurt me, Lucas. And I know you're hurting. You probably miss your family. I know you're not living the high life. And I know you want to protect those in your care. If you work with me, that can happen. Otherwise, well, I reached you. What makes you think others can't?"

"You're operating on your own?" He let the incredulity sound loud and clear.

"For now. This will be a lot bloodier if that changes, Lucas. Neither of us wants that."

He said nothing.

"Now, if you're feeling receptive, I have a proposition..."

Thursday, May 7, 2015: Undisclosed Location, Early Morning

Matt Przybysz liked few things less than hearing someone new try to pronounce his last name, but one of them was waiting for something that was right around the corner and another was having to stay really quiet. When he was a kid, he'd be fine all year anticipating his birthday or Christmas, but then when he woke up two hours before anyone else in his house and had to play it cool until they were ready to celebrate, it was pure torture. He could do it, of course—he wasn't enough of a hothead to actually cause issues like fucking Caudle was—but today was like all the Christmases and birthdays of the past ten years rolled into one, and the package he wanted to break into was a shitload of C-4 filling up every part of the boat not filled with STAR members, primarily those from the Assault Squad.

They'd slipped the perimeter ships really, really easily. Well, it had been a little more complicated than that, but that was mostly the Intel Squad's doing. They'd managed to pull some strings to get a few ships diverted close to these waters, and just like they'd hoped, the AT had scrambled their guard ships to go chase off some Chinese fishing poachers. This had let the smaller boat with all its lights cut make its way towards the HQ ship.

The AT hadn't used it as their primary base during V4, and that had been a blessing and a curse. It had been a whole lot easier to get going with a largely ground-based attack, but on the other hand they could just blow a big hole in the side of the ship and laugh as it sunk and shoot anyone who tried to evacuate. That was what the C4 and all the Assault Squad guys with guns were for.

With no light and a motor a lot smaller than what the old tanker the AT was using had, they were getting nice and cozy and so far seemed to have passed undetected. So now, all they were waiting on was the signal that the Defense Squad was in position to land on the island and try to stop the killing.

So Matt held his breath and tried counting and glanced back and forth at the others. He wiggled his eyebrows at Dax, trying to get him to crack and laugh, and Dax shot him a glare so fierce he almost started giggling and had to turn and look out at the water instead.

Soon, he'd hear that click over the radio. Soon.

And then, there it was.

Thursday, May 7, 2015: Undisclosed Location, 6 AM

"Does it bother you, being so far from the action?"

As Greynolds spoke, Tracen glanced up from the papers covering his desk. Greynolds stood in front of the small window at the back of the room, silhouetted against the first rays of the rising sun. It was almost time to give the first announcement of the game, and Tracen had been reviewing the notes taken, especially those that came courtesy of the newer recruits. Some of them had a real gift for humor and turn of phrase. He'd been so absorbed in his work that he'd almost forgotten Greynolds' presence in the room.

Of course, truth be told, he was intentionally letting the task distract him from everything else going on. As usual, Greynolds had seen through that.

"It does," Tracen said. "A little, at least. But it's not like I didn't have choices. I'm here because I'm needed here, and I trust that everyone else will do their parts."

Greynolds' head moved slightly as he looked Tracen up and down, and then he stepped to the side of the window, letting Tracen get a better look at his face. Greynolds was smiling, a quiet little smile unlike what he usually wore, but one that Tracen was familiar enough with from days past.

"I'm glad to hear you say that," Greynolds said.

"Oh?"

"It's what Victor always struggled with," Greynolds elaborated. "He was a great man, with great ambitions, but part of that was that it was always personal for him, to some extent. He liked to make examples."

Greynolds fell silent for a spell, but Tracen said nothing; he could tell that there was more coming, and this musing on his father was unusual for Greynolds. He knew there had been moments of tension between the two—both had, at various times, let hints of frustration with each other color their interactions with him—but they had by and large never revealed any specifics.

"We thought he was making a big mistake back in V3," Greynolds said. "That was getting personal in a way that was bad for everyone. Bringing someone back onto the island went totally against our message, and forcing a traitor back into the ranks made no sense. His decisions were not good for morale. Now that you've seen how things here work, I'm sure you can figure out why."

"Yes." Tracen spoke immediately, because it was true. He expected it to feel like a betrayal, like a repudiation of his father, but the simple fact of the matter was that Greynolds' analysis was correct.

"Sonia and Steven and Melvin and I got assigned far from the island during that version, mostly by our request," Greynolds said. "Insistence, really. Sometimes I wonder if that was a mistake. If we'd been closer, maybe things wouldn't have gotten so far out of control. Maybe we could've stopped the snowball before V4."

He shook his head.

"I don't mean to dwell. I guess what I'm saying, Tracen, is that I'm proud of you. You have perspective, and you know when to put what you want aside. There's a reason people follow you."

"Thanks," Tracen said. He turned back to the papers, thinking to prepare for the speech he'd be giving in just a few hours, but now that his thoughts had started to wander, he found them drawn inexorably to an island far away.

Thursday, May 7, 2015: Undisclosed Location, Early Morning

They were off the boat almost as soon as it touched the beach. Jaxon's team was the first on the ground, but Rachel's was supposedly not far behind. They'd received confirmation that the Assault Squad was in position. The all-clear went all around.

Jaxon was carrying a megaphone, an assault rifle, a sidearm, a knife, and some electronic equipment he didn't fully understand that was supposed to at least interfere enough with the collars to stop the AT from blowing them en masse. Mateo had the main gear, trading all armament except a small pistol for a bulky backpack containing a toolbox, a computer, and a large number of cables and adaptors. Nate was decked out similarly to Jaxon, but while Jaxon held his megaphone and left his rifle slung over his back, Nate's primary weapon rested comfortably in his grasp.

The beach was scraggly, covered in rocks and driftwood and trash, and an asphalt road full of potholes led away from it and wound upwards towards one of the first stocky buildings.

"Looks like we've got five of them in there, three more in some sort of shack a couple hundred feet to the side," Mateo said, showing his tablet to Jaxon. Jaxon took a look, noting that the larger concentration was closer to where the light had blinked out earlier.

"Nate, can you grab someone and go check the shack?" he said.

"Sure thing, chief." Nate put extra emphasis on the last word. Jaxon didn't much care for his tone of voice, but then, Nate seemed set on regressing to the exact way he was back in 2008. Whatever. If everything went to plan, this was it. There might well be no more need for STAR after today. Nate could take his resurgent attitude problems somewhere else.

"Mateo, let's head for the big building. Keep an ear out for anything from Rachel. Dera, stay with the boat and be ready to head out hot if we have to."

Dera Sterling gave a nod. The rest of the squad started moving. Jaxon stuck close to Mateo, sneaking glances at the tablet. It looked like most of the island was still asleep—some of the dots were moving, but most of them were stationary. This was another benefit of their timing. If most of the island was unaware of what was going on, STAR would be in a better position to either keep everyone calm and stop any killing or to grab those they could and get out quickly and safely.

"Looks like they've got one guy on guard," Mateo said, pointing to one of the dots marching a perimeter inside the building.

As the group made their way up the hill, Nate peeled off to the side, one of the others in tow. They moved quickly and as quietly as they could, keeping low to the ground. By now, the terrorists would be well aware of what was going on due to the cameras, but they'd similarly have their hands full with the assault on their ship. In any event, they clearly hadn't been able to blow the collars; it seemed that either the gear STAR had was working or the AT wasn't quite willing to give up on the season.

Reaching the door, Jaxon took up position on the hinge side, Mateo behind him. The others moved to cover for him. He watched, and then, at the point where the patrolling student was furthest from the door, Mateo gave a nod.

Jaxon jiggled the handle of the door and then, finding it locked, gave it a hard kick. The door flew open.

"Nobody move," he called. "We're here to help you. Stay calm."

But as one of the others flicked on a flashlight, Jaxon saw that there were no students in the building at all, just four collars strewn across the floor and a fifth attached to a small box on wheels, rolling circles around the room.

Thursday, May 7, 2015: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

The chair in front of the microphone set up was really just a chair. That's all that it should have been.

No matter how many times Tracen Danya told himself that, it never quite rang fully true. At times, he felt like the child prince scrambling to climb onto the throne of the king.

Some throne, some crown.

Some king.

Tracen sat, checked the digital clock on the desk one more time, and then hit the button controlling the island's PA system.

A moment later, his voice rang out across the entire area.

"Good morning ladies, gentlemen and those of unspecified gender. If you're hearing this, then congratulations. You're still alive. I'll let that sink in for a moment, because if you can put two and two together, you'll conclude that means some of you aren't."

Tracen took a deep breath. Exhaled.

"So with no further ado, here's the butcher's bill.

"Our first casualty of the festivities was Jennifer Su. Friendly reminder not to play on the edge of bridges, guys.

"Florentina Luz found herself with a second smile when she ran into Isabel Ramirez in a bad mood; let's give a warm round of applause for the first person to bite the bullet and take someone else out."

He didn't try too hard to inject enthusiasm into his voice. The very first killer? That had enough impact all on its own.

"Up next, Nancy Kyle took it upon herself to take an axe to Scarlett McAfee. Ten points for guessing what happens when hatchet meets human body.

"If you ever wondered who would be a bad person to run into in a dark room, well, you have your answer in Kimiko Kao. You have Cristóbal Morales to thank for making that discovery for all of you. I'll pass his corpse your regards."

Mostly, it was a matter of pushing the right buttons. Tracen's opinion on what he was saying didn't really matter. He wondered, sometimes, if that was the same rationale behind his father's theatrics when he'd sat in this chair. He hoped so.

"Speaking of playing around in high places, Barry Banks stepped a little too close to the edge and Alvaro Vacanti gave him a helping hand over it. Whoops.

"Abigail Floyd was our next to die. She opted out by slashing her wrists, making it just that little bit easier for all the rest of you.

"In a fun little turn of events, Conrad Harrod got twitchy and in short order Harold Porter got opened up. Harold didn't hold on for much longer than that, and bled out. However, I suppose he can take some posthumous consolation from the fact that Isabel Ramirez guaranteed Conrad didn't outlive him by much. Two for two for Miss Ramirez."

It sounded good, for their purposes, to root for someone who was doing it 'right'. What mattered was that it sounded good.

"Alex Tarquin got on the board when he went Rambo and slashed a piece out of Rea Adams. Nice form, Mr Tarquin.

"Lastly, we lost Joshua Bracewell - more swordplay on the menu from Cochise High after Jasmine Reed impaled him through the shoulder. If I'd known we were in for a fencing display, I might have just assigned a sword to every one of you."

How many of them, Tracen wondered, would hear that and curse his name, threaten his life and limb and everything in between?

He'd find out soon enough.

"You'll want to listen close to this next part, everyone. For the next twenty-four hours, the Supply Depot will be considered a danger zone, meaning anyone in there will have their collars blown. You have ten minutes from the end of this announcement to leave.

"Last, but by no means least, the guys in the office were a big fan of Kimiko Kao out there and are pleased to announce her as the very first winner of the V6 Best Kill Award. Come along to the Helipad to collect your well-earned prize."

Tracen tapped his fingers on the desk.

"See you all tomorrow, kids. Try not to die until then."

He hit the button again, pushed back from the desk, the chair scraping along the floorboards, let out a ragged breath.

Long live the king.

The Second Announcement
Thursday, May 7, 2015: Australia

Zach Valentino had hoped his nerves would ease once the operation was underway, but that had been optimistic in the face of all past evidence. Ever since he moved to a more passive, administrative role in STAR, he got tense when his friends and compatriots were away. He felt like he was holding his breath when Garnett or Grossi was off for a meeting with one of their sponsors. He'd been anxious the entire time when Maxie vanished to take care of some unfinished business. He'd just about paced a hole in the floor in 2008, when most of the organization had been deployed.

They told him that he had to stay safe—not just Garnett and Grossi, either, but most of STAR's members. They told him he held things together. They said he was the glue, had the personality and the vision, but Zach didn't quite see it that way. He wasn't the sort for inaction. He hadn't volunteered to head the most dangerous part of the operation that had birthed STAR just to improve morale. Going out there and being on the frontline, that was who he was. It was how he could feel like he was having a real impact. Most of STAR had come home in 2008, but a few hadn't. Zach had been haunted by that, wondering if he'd been there whether things could've been different. Okaying Brynn's infiltration had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done, because they'd all known how high the odds were she'd never return. Her departure had been the last he saw of her.

And so, even though everything for this operation checked out and lined up to a degree he'd never before seen, a sense of dread hung over Zach. Maybe if there had been more people around, he could've relaxed more, but the house felt empty. Garnett had pulled Grossi out for some secret piece of work, telling Zach to just stay the course and claiming that he'd reveal everything upon his return, but the absence of the older men left Zach feeling even more isolated in his position of authority. Ki was still around, and Torrie and Yu, but the rest were either enacting the operation or shepherding the V3ers, whose absence was felt in its own right.

So he was pacing between his room and the operations center, where Ki and Yu were keeping closer track of the operation in progress. He was only out of their sight for a few minutes at a time, he told himself. He'd be able to respond if anything came up. He could hear anything anyone shouted.

But when Ki's voice called out, "Zach, come quick," he wasn't ready at all. As he raced to the room, breath quickening, hands tensing, he realized that, for all his worry, he'd never actually believed things would go particularly wrong.

 Thursday, May 7, 2015: Undisclosed Location

"Get out, now," Jaxon shouted, but he knew it was already too late.

He turned and started to run, Mateo and the others a step behind, when the gunfire broke out. It came from off to the side, a different blocky concrete building, and the angle and distance weren't optimal, which was probably the only reason they weren't cut down en masse. The tablet, still in Mateo's hand, suddenly erupted into a shower of shards and glass, and Mateo cursed and swatted at the air. Everything seemed to be moving slowly; Jaxon watched drops of blood trace arcs from Mateo's hand into the night.

"Fire back," Jaxon growled. "Keep them down."

This direction was probably unnecessary—with the initial moments of shock past, his comrades were already busily pulling or reorienting weapons, and moments later the flow of ammunition was moving in both directions.

Jaxon did not draw his own weapon, however, but rather clawed his radio loose from among the mass of gear he was carrying. It took him a few seconds to get it tuned to the panic channel that would cut the whole operation into his broadcast; in that time, someone behind him screamed and fell. He didn't know who, had no time to look, no time to go back. It was a sick, sinking feeling. They hadn't lost many people in 2008, and none on Jaxon's team. He wondered whose face he wouldn't be seeing again.

"Dera," he called into the radio, "get moving, now. It's a trap. They probably have someone moving to you now, so swing around the side and we'll try to catch you at the backup extraction point."

"Jaxon, are you—" her voice came, panic clear even over the fuzzy connection, but Jaxon said, "No arguments, no questions. Now. Everyone else, the AT is on us. Abort and run. We'll try to get clear."

"I don't think it's gonna be that easy." That was Rachel's voice, and there was an edge of budding panic to it. "There's something heading our way."

But Jaxon's attention was drawn from the conversation by a lull in the gunfire around him. STAR was still firing back, but mostly blind, and the AT hadn't advanced at all from their positions. Something was wrong here, and in a second he realized what it was.

The AT wanted them running. That they hadn't all been cut down on the spot spoke to something else going on. He had a few ideas—could be they wanted prisoners to interrogate, or more likely they were waiting until they could spring something on all the branches of the operation simultaneously and his group, as the ones running a little ahead of schedule, had been allowed to get further than anticipated—but it didn't really matter. What was important now was surviving, getting out, and to do that they had to be smart. Dera was already abandoning the beach, so they'd have to make their way to the backup rendezvous, down a fairly treacherous slope a half mile around the edge of the island. That meant they couldn't just run back the way they came, no doubt into the waiting arms of the AT.

"Head to Nate's position," Jaxon said. "Link up with them, then we'll try to sneak it out. Don't shoot unless you have to."

His ears were ringing, making the sudden quiet seem less still, but the flip from nothing to coming under assault to nothing again left him edgy and drained. It was almost like being back in the game again, and those old doubts came swimming back. Should he turn around, see if whoever they'd lost was alive? Should they surrender and throw themselves on the mercy of the AT?

"I don't think we're getting out," came Rachel's voice from the radio. "They're faster than us, and they're better armed. We're returning fire as best we can and trying to lead them away from your position, but..."

"Stay safe," Jaxon said, knowing it was a meaningless platitude.

Rachel seemed to sense it too, because she laughed.

"No," she said, "you stay safe. I think it's way too late for us. I think they're going to—"

Then the radio went dead, and a few seconds later the sound of an explosion tore through the air.

 Thursday, May 7, 2015: Undisclosed Location

About three minutes after the all-clear, as the Assault Squad was just about into position, Jaxon Jeremiah made a call on the emergency channel to let them know that, whoops, Christmas was actually canceled and in fact today was the first day of school and also Matt's puppy had been hit by the school bus.

Right on cue, a bunch of floodlights came on along the side of the tanker, making Matt feel pretty damn stupid sitting in his matte black boat wearing all black like some kind of wannabe ninja. He didn't have too long to worry about it, though, because those constantly-helpful terrorists saw fit to distract him by opening fire from the deck. Always happy to return the favor, Matt stood up and shot back, the kick of the assault rifle against his shoulder almost welcome after so much sitting still.

Dax shouted something. Matt couldn't really hear what, but it must have been an order to turn tail, because the boat got moving in a hurry, which made Matt stumble and fall back down. It was actually a pretty damn good boat, built for going places in a hurry as well as quietly when the need arose, so within a few seconds they were zipping off into the ocean, away from the tanker.

"Well, that went to shit fast," Matt said.

Dax grunted something back. Everyone was shouting, moving around, doing things, but really what Matt knew how to do was shoot and blow things up with C-4, and it looked like both of those tasks had become unnecessary, at least for the moment. He couldn't exactly feel bored, though, given that he was in mortal peril, which left him to think about the ocean spray on his face and the way everything had fallen apart in about two seconds.

"I wonder when the other boot's gonna drop," he said.

"What?" Dax shouted.

"I mean, they didn't wait all night to miss us with potshots and then let us run away from their really slow tanker," Matt clarified.

"What do you mean, 'miss?'" Dax said.

Matt paused, did a quick headcount. It looked like nobody was missing, but he realized Dax was clutching his leg, and some of the others were hunched over someone lying on the deck. It was too dark to make much out, especially since everyone was wearing all fucking black, but Matt had a pretty good guess they were dealing with at least one potentially-fatal injury.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked Dax.

"Not sure. Bleeding pretty bad, but not dead yet," Dax said. That was all the incentive Matt needed to rush over to his side, digging a first aid kit from under a bench on his way. He pulled gauze and pads out, letting other stuff fall to the floor of the boat to be rolled from one side to the other by the rocking waves, but Dax held up a hand and said, "Painkillers first. I gotta be able to function."

"Yeah," Matt said, "yeah, alright."

Matt's search in the first aid kit was made momentarily easier by a flash of illumination, but this prompted him to look up just to catch a flame dying out over near the island they were racing away from. Moments later, the sound of an explosion swept over them.

"I think that was Rachel," Dax said.

"Shh," Matt said. He'd found the painkillers, and handed the bottle to Dax, who poured more pills than Matt thought was probably wise into his hand and dry-swallowed them. Matt didn't say anything about this development, just got to work bandaging Dax's leg again. He was so focused that he was taken by surprise when another pair of hands started helping out; one of the others who'd been surrounding the fallen boy was here, but Matt couldn't tell who because the guy was wearing this stupid-ass balaclava. Even in the dark, Matt could see the tearstains under the eyeholes.

"How're they doing?" Matt asked, but the guy just shook his head and closed his eyes.

Matt felt like he should do or say something, maybe even try to bring a bit of humor to the table to raise morale, but before he could come up with anything this whirring, thumping noise from back towards the ship they'd been planning to assault started up and everyone turned to look that way.

Following their gaze, Matt caught the silhouette of a helicopter taking off, then watched as it turned and sped towards them.

 Monday, April 27, 2015: Australia

It was clear something was wrong long before Garnett turned the car off the main roads and headed towards the outskirts of town, but Grossi didn't say anything. Everything about Garnett's demeanor suggested he had no interest in idle conversation, and he'd made very clear that the business they had to discuss was of the utmost secrecy. Zach hadn't seemed thrilled about it, but he trusted both of them, and Grossi trusted Garnett, so here they were.

The car pulled off onto a dirt access road, thumping its way along for about two miles—even after all these years, thinking in kilometers still eluded Grossi—and finally stopped at a small gate barring further access. Garnett got out of the car, opened the gate, got back in, drove through, got out and closed and locked the gate, then returned and drove them a similar distance further, until they came to a fairly nondescript field with a small stand of some sort of equipment off at one edge of the makeshift parking lot. Then, he got out of the car and gestured Grossi to join him.

"What're we doing here, Brandon?" Grossi asked. "You wanted to show me something? What is all this?"

"I'm not here to show you anything, Lucas," Garnett said. "I wanted to talk in private. Real private. It's harder than you might think around here."

His tone was cold and formal, in a way that Grossi hadn't heard in a long time, which rendered the meaning beyond the words hard to decipher. There was none of the anger that had seeped into Garnett's voice when he'd disagreed about some course of action, none of the warmth and humor that had colored their more positive interactions. There was nothing, a blank slate, and that made Grossi edgy.

"I'm not sure if you knew this, but I helped STAR get out way back in Test Run Eight," Garnett said. He was staring out into the empty field, looking with his one good eye at nothing Grossi could discern.

"No," Grossi said, "I didn't know that."

"I didn't think you did," Garnett said. "The kids don't know. I think Danya—the real Danya, not his kid—might've had an idea, but maybe he was just crazy. But I figured he was getting closer, so that's why I dipped out, right before McLocke and Kaige and Rice bit it."

Grossi didn't say anything. It was a hot day, and a dry breeze ruffled the scraggly plants in the field. Their surroundings seemed uncultivated, perhaps some sort of conservation area or wildlife preserve restricted to the public, though Grossi saw no signs of animal life.

"I spent a lot of time pretending to be someone I wasn't," Garnett said. "I did a lot of bad things to keep my cover up. But I always knew that, when the chips came down, I'd be on the right side. It wasn't easy, but that was what I told myself whenever I had to act like friends with some psychopath, or when I had to let one terrible thing happen to prevent two more."

Garnett rolled his shoulders. He was wearing a bulky leather jacket despite the heat of the day, and Grossi could see a bead of sweat forming along the bottom edge of the eye patch he wore.

"You getting nervous about the operation?" Grossi asked. "Excited that it's almost over?"

"There's not going to be an operation," Garnett said.

"What?"

"I know who you've been talking to, Lucas."

It was like a punch. Still, Grossi had learned to roll with the punches, to adapt to sudden changes—sudden changes like the one which had left him fleeing the AT along with Garnett all those years ago—so he kept as cool as he could, even as worry began to mount. Okay, so Garnett knew. What now? There was no point denying. Explain, then.

"It's not like you think," Grossi said. "She found me, somehow, and I was trying to figure out what she knew. She clearly has some sort of source on us, but she said she didn't want to see anyone die who didn't have to."

"I don't think Sonia's too concerned about avoiding unnecessary bloodshed, Lucas." Every time Garnett said Grossi's name, he intoned it with a little more venom.

"She said she was working on her own. I was trying to stall her until..." Grossi trailed off as Garnett waved his hand in the air.

"I'm not interested in excuses, Lucas. I know you're a capable enough liar. And even if you are telling the truth, it changes very little. We've been thoroughly compromised."

"Exactly," Grossi said, trying to fight the building panic. Garnett had clearly gotten, if not entirely the wrong idea, at the very least a twisted picture of what was going on. "That's what makes it so important we figure out where the leak is and how to stop it."

"There's no 'we' anymore," Garnett said. He turned, now, to face Grossi for the first time. "You messed up, bad, and you got caught."

"So that's it?" Grossi was more nervous than ever, now, but he felt something else stirring, too: anger. So that was it? All their years, all their work together, and Garnett was willing to assume the worst based on... on who even knew what? On half-heard conversations? Because it was true, to a greater or lesser extent, but it was not simple. Grossi had listened to Sonia, and he had been considering her offer, very carefully, but not, he told himself, for his own sake. He'd been trying to figure a way to keep STAR from slamming headlong into a trap, and he'd known the whole time that if he told Garnett or Zach or the others before he was sure, they'd do something rash or jeopardize the whole tenuous situation, or they'd run off into the night to hide for another decade, somewhere even further from everything, and probably still get themselves caught in the process. He'd been looking out for their best interests—his too, of course, but never solely. "What? I'm out of the club now?"

"Oh yeah, Lucas, you're out of the club now," Garnett said.

Grossi shrugged.

"Well, I guess it was nice working with you, then. Thought we had a nice thing going. Friendship and trust and all that, but I guess I'll see you on the news when whoever the actual leak is throws you under the bus again."

Garnett raised the eyebrow above his patch.

"That's not how this is going to work, Lucas," he said. "If you wanted to get out, you should've left like Ben. Or maybe even gone with Dorian."

The mention must've been aimed at spiting Grossi—while Benjirou had allegedly parted ways with the organization on passable enough terms before Garnett and Grossi had even joined, Dorian's departure had felt a little different. Dorian had, after a time in which he utterly failed to integrate with STAR, begged a lump sum from their reserves in exchange for all the information he could recall from his time in the AT's technical department and had vanished off to somewhere in Southeast Asia with a fake identity. Grossi made cracks, now and then, about him living it up in Thailand while his former comrades and victims thereof died left and right.

"You always talked big about security," Garnett continued. "The vague threats, the ominous insinuations when it seemed like the V3ers might go off course. Well, what's the only way to be really sure with someone who knows all your secrets?"

As he spoke, Garnett slipped his hand from the pocket of his jacket—Grossi hadn't even noticed him reaching in—and revealed a small revolver.

"You're kidding," Grossi said. "Brandon, this is insane. This isn't how we do things."

"This is exactly how we do things, Lucas," Garnett said. "We've just been fortunate enough not to need to so far."

Grossi took a step closer, then backed right back up when Garnett wiggled the revolver at him. His head hurt. This was wrong, all wrong. A question came to him, then, a small and stupid question, but one he had to ask.

"Does Zach know?"

"Nobody knows," Garnett said, "nobody but me."

"Good."

That got a little smile out of Garnett.

"I'll tell them you're off on assignment. You won't come back. That's all they'll have to hear, if that makes you feel better."

"I guess it does," Grossi said. "Only a little, though."

He was telling the truth, but the fear and anger were also rising and raging within him now. This was what he'd left the AT to escape. Sonia had been right. What had they become? Taking money from anyone who'd donate it, turning on each other at the drop of a hat? He'd thought about his death a number of times, of course—it came with the situation they found themselves in—but never had he thought Garnett might be the one to pull the trigger. He told himself that, were the situations reversed, he'd have listened. He'd have spent more time trying to sort the matter out, or at worst he'd've kept a suspected traitor captive.

"I'll stay in the house," he said, spurred by this thought. "I won't talk to anyone. Lock me up, I don't care."

"This is unbecoming, Lucas," Garnett said. He closed his eye for a moment, and his features softened, but when he opened it he was right back to how he had been. "I'm sorry it has to be this way. I hate it. It's tearing me up. But that changes nothing. If you have anything else you want to say, now's the time."

And in that moment, Grossi found himself making a decision he'd also never conceived of in all his hours of musing and fantasizing.

"No, Brandon," he said. "I guess there's nothing else I want to say."

Then he lunged at Garnett, pulling the knife from the back of his belt as he did.

 Thursday, May 7, 2015: Australia

It was pure chaos at STAR HQ. Ki and Yu were talking over each other, the radio was howling with a recording of Jaxon Jeremiah's voice almost drowned out by gunfire, and all Zach could think was that everything had been fine five minutes ago.

"Cut the speakers," he shouted, and when nobody moved he said, "Ki, cut the speakers," and the boy did.

Now, with Zach having assumed command, the room fell into total silence. He thought for a moment, then said, "Yu, go get Torrie. Ki, tell me what's going on."

"It's an ambush," Ki said. "I don't know how, but they were waiting. It sounds like they've been planning this a long time. The kids weren't there—maybe they just killed them, or maybe they're on some other island who the fuck knows where."

Zach grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, glancing as he did at Yu's computer screen, but he couldn't parse any of the text quickly enough, so said to Ki, "What's everyone's status?"

Ki swallowed, and Zach closed his eyes, wondering how many of his friends were already dead.

"Rachel's crew got hit with a torpedo or something. No responses, and everyone's assuming they're gone. Dax and the rest are being chased down, one dead, a few injured. Jaxon's group is split on the island, pinned down and trying to extract, but so far their ride has eluded capture."

"Anything from Yun and Quinn?"

"They're going underground. So far no pursuit on their end, but..."

"Alright, then—" But Zach didn't finish his sentence, as the sound of nearby gunfire broke his concentration. He darted immediately across the room, digging under papers in the top drawer of a cabinet until he came up with a pistol. Guns were always close to hand in the STAR house.

"Scuttle everything," he said to Ki, who was already typing on his computer. There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and Zach stepped out into the hall, but what greeted him was Yu, clutching his arm as blood dribbled down it.

"They're coming," Yu said. "No idea how many, but they rolled up out front and just started shooting."

"Torrie?" Zach said, and Yu closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Forget the computers, Ki," Zach shouted. "Grab a gun. We're running, now."

Ki came out of the room at a sprint. His usually cheerful face was now dominated by wide eyes and tense, flat lips.

It was strange. Everything was falling apart around them, but Zach did not feel afraid. He was tense, anxious, crushed and enraged by the deaths of his friends. This wasn't what he'd pulled them together for, wasn't what they'd spent years planning for and working towards. They were going to lose. All their progress, their work, was crumbling down around them, and yet Zach felt more calm and alive than he had throughout all the planning, all the setup. He wasn't free from risk anymore. He wasn't sitting safe while everyone else took the chances.

"Come on," he said, turning and starting to run. Ki was right at his heels when he made it to the top of the back staircase, but Yu was not. Looking back, Zach saw him still standing in front of the door to the HQ room.

"Come on," Zach yelled again, but Yu shook his head.

"I'll stay and wipe what I can," the boy called, "slow them down a little."

"It doesn't matter," Zach shouted back.

"We need to," Yu said, but Zach shouted again, "It doesn't matter. Get over here," and Yu broke into a stumbling jog towards them, drops of blood from his arm speckling the floor behind him.

They hurried down the stairs, even as they heard the echo of boots on the front staircase. Slipping into the living room, Zach locked the door behind them, knowing it would buy them at most a handful of seconds and hoping that would be enough. Then it was out through the kitchen, to the back of the property. They were careful. They had vehicles in multiple places, had plans for evacuations. Nobody needed to talk.

But when they did make their way through the kitchen door and into the backyard, those careful drills and preparations proved fruitless. Two men in body armor were already there, standing along the wall at one corner of the house, and they opened fire. The siding of the house exploded into splinters. Yu screamed and toppled, clutching his gut and rolling in the grass. Zach and Ki scrambled out of the line of fire, towards the side of the house. There was always a car parked there. The AT might have reached it first. Zach could deal with that. He hadn't been on the front lines in a while, but he'd tangled with the terrorists before. While they were acting quickly, he was reacting in time with their movements.

And of course, someone was indeed waiting. As Zach whirled around the corner, he came face to face with three men holding assault rifles, one on either side of the car, and a third between them. There was no thought. Zach steadied the pistol at the target closest at hand, the man on the left, and pulled the trigger.

It was only as that man crumpled that he recognized the man in the middle, the one even now turning his rifle on them. The buzz cut and thin-lipped face, expressionless as it ever was, were familiar from briefings and STAR's files. The black body armor was standard-AT issue, but the trademark sunglasses definitely were not. Undoubtedly, Steven Wilson cut a recognizable figure.

 Thursday, May 7, 2015: Undisclosed Location

There was a body at Nate's assigned position. Jaxon didn't get close enough to tell if it was Nate, his companion, or one of their attackers. It barely mattered. They took a further detour, slinking between the grey concrete warehouses. From time to time, someone far off opened fire, and sometimes Jaxon's group returned it. The whole process seemed interminable, but they were slowly but surely making their way towards the gravelly slope the marked the secondary extraction point.

It was just Jaxon, Mateo, and two others left at this point—he thought Jordan and Lulu, but couldn't say for sure. Nobody was talking. The radio had gone mostly silent.

Finally, however, Jaxon had to break the spell of quiet.

"Alright," he said, gesturing, "We cross this lot, then over the fence and down the slope. Dera should be there. Then we go. No waiting. If someone goes down, leave them."

The others nodded.

Jaxon took a deep breath, counted to ten in his head, and then gave a nod.

They broke from the cover of the building, and had made it halfway to the fence before the gunfire started. Probably-Jordan cursed as he took a hit in the side, but he barely broke step. The fence wasn't tall—maybe six feet and chainlink—but it represented enough of an obstacle that Jaxon was pretty sure they weren't all going to make it. A bullet clipped the side of Mateo's face, and he howled and tumbled roughly to the other side of the fence, but kept moving. Jaxon was the last one over, and as he touched down and watched the others begin their scramble down the hill, he experienced a brief pang of hope, that maybe they'd all somehow made it through.

Then there was this feeling, like he'd been punched in the side and the leg, and he found himself spinning to the ground. Mateo looked back and yelled something, but one of the others grabbed at him and they kept moving. Jaxon tried to stand and follow, but his leg wasn't moving right and he could barely manage a kneel.

He looked back, and saw figures on the other side of the fence, now, maybe fifty feet away and closing rapidly, and he felt the blood running down his back and leg, and he almost wanted to laugh, because there wasn't a whole lot else he could do.

Friday, May 8, 2015: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

"Good morning, Cochise High School."

His voice was calm and level. In another place, it could have been the voice coming out of the speaker system on a plane, the tannoy in a train station.

"There are nine people who listened to yesterday's encouragement and failed to make it count. Nine more names crossed off the roster.

They're dead and you aren't. Contemplate that for a short while."

He paused appropriately.

"Okay, time's wasting. Let's get to it.

Jane Madison was our first unlucky loser of Day 2. Oskar Pearce found his trigger finger and Miss Madison found herself dead. I was wondering when you folks would find your safeties.

Jasmine King took a moment to declare herself the winner of the game. Good news for everyone else: ripping open your own throat does not, in fact, send you home victorious. I really didn't think that it was something that would need spelling out, but no, more fool me.

Nancy Kyle kept her momentum from the first day - and let me tell you, we have a real go-getter on our hands, here. Doing her best axe murderer impression, she took Sabrina Luz to pieces, then followed up by introducing Sanford Bricks to the business end of a screwdriver. Turns out that most anything has a business end if you try hard enough."

He 'hmm'd' to himself, loud enough to carry.

"Though, does it really count as an impression if you're actually just murdering with an axe? Answers on a postcard, everyone."

It came easily, casually enough. Quite a pair of shoes to fill, but the familiarity was simple.

It wasn't hard.

"Bradley Floyd was our next to fall, and at the hands of another repeat performer, no less. Perhaps you wouldn't credit her with the strength, but Kimiko Kao ran him through," he paused a moment. "See, I was considering making a joke here, but I think Mr Floyd already took all the good ones himself. Consolation prize.

"Brendan Harte took the honourable route when challenging Jeremiah Larkin to a duel to the death and proceeding to stab him from behind. Wait. No. Honourable isn't the word. Help me out here, kids."

Who they needed was the man in the chair. He could be the man in the chair. Wasn't really important how the words tasted when they sounded so sweet to the ears that mattered.

"Mitch Settles moped around for a little while and then shot himself in the head. Whoops.

"Familiar face number three - Isabel Ramirez is beginning to be right at home in my little announcements, isn't she? This time, Danny Brooks managed to get onto her bad side. She introduced her weapon to Mr Brooks' bad side. She stabbed him, is what I'm saying. A lot.

"Finally, Min-jae Parker brought out a taste of brutality and gave Samuel Howard a lethal beatdown. Full marks, Mr Parker, it's always nice to see someone putting their heart into their work."

"Moving on to other matters: for the next twenty-four hours, the Utilities Compound will be considered a danger zone, so pack your bags and get out in the next ten minutes if you like your collars and necks intact. If you left some precious keepsake at the supply depot, don't lose your head about it; that area is open again."

"On a happier note, Brendan Harte was a real crowd pleaser and has won the second Best Kill Award of V6. Come along to the radio tower to collect your well-earned prize."

"Until tomorrow, kids."